


Wake Me Up

by ShikiSha



Series: WIPs or Standalones GoT [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, No Beta we fight!!, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Pre-Canon, Sansa Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29325846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShikiSha/pseuds/ShikiSha
Summary: This fic idea is currently a standalone. Might be a WIP of a bigger series, we'll see - at a later date.The author likes to keep it vague currently if it's Sansa or an OC at the moment. For this ficlet. Possibly just an OOC Sansa.She wakes up - not in her bed.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark
Series: WIPs or Standalones GoT [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154090
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Wake Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Currently can't sleep, this isn't a well researched or edited at all piece! Just for fun, people. 
> 
> A plotbunny I am writing at 3am.  
> Heads up! This is probably very very bad quality but I figured maybe this'd help me to sleep sooner or be cathartic or both. :) Enjoy I hope?
> 
> Definitely didn't write all I wanted in this part! But I'm tired now so. And the pacing is maybe off. Definitely need to edit. It's 5:45 AM now so. Not edited! Enjoy!

She wakes --- this isn't bed. It's cold and hard underneath her. Her hand presses into her cheek. 

And it's damp _._ Not dry -

Sansa opens her eyes, thick sleep itching the corners. It's dark. She pushes up against her hands, onto her knees. Her breathes fill the space too loudly. The skin of her lips crack and feel tight over her teeth. 

She tries to keep her breaths slow. It's harder than she thought.

The humid warmth of her breaths hit her nose making it sting from the cold on every inhale. 

She waits long moments until she can make out darker shapes, around her. Everything is hazy. She looks up. 

There's something, her eyelashes flutter as she traces it, in front of her, a little to her left. Tall and still and - she drops her hand, to stop herself from touching it. It might be a statue. But ...she can't see enough. 

Now that she looks... there is another one nearby, she thinks. Going further into the shadow. She can feel her eyes twitch under her lids, as they dart about the space. More than normal, maybe? It's weird.

Or maybe because she's alone. - is someone supposed to be there?

She looks away from that side, shifting onto her behind, sucking in a breath through her teeth as more damp cold shocks her. She keeps both palms flat on the ground behind her. The press of the stone against her palms feels grounding.

There's faint light - she looks quickly down and away - keeping it to the edge of her sight. She checks the space again - she checks the tall still thing - she can see it, without needing to wait again. So that's not lost - and back to the approximate patch of dark, so the light is in the edge of her vision again. 

She studies it like that. Its slow and hard work. The cold seeps into her behind and palms. Her tongue gets sore and dry, sometime later, so she clenches her jaw and mouth shut. Her fingers hurt and the whites of her eyes feel cold and ... dry... By the time she's figured it out. A crack or crevice, shaped like a rectangle - a door, maybe. 

She wants to get to it now but she risks losing where she is. Getting lost. Her reference points. 

So, hands, feet and body cold and in pain, she shuffles slowly, to the right, over bit by bit. Sansa checks the tall shadow every time she's moved and makes sure to keep the light at the edge. 

She scrapes or rubs her hand too much against the floor because it's hurting more than the other. But she doesn't stop. Once, she lands her foot wrong, hits it - it's too numb so she misjudges - and twists her leg. She stops then. Just for a little while. 

Sansa notices tension and pain in the balls of her shoulders especially, when she sits. So, slowly, she rolls them before moving her arms out of position. Her hands need to check her feet, her leg. Stretching her arms forwards feels jarring still, but she hopes it's better than it could have been. As she leans forward she feels the clothes she's wearing move - she's wearing a dress of some sort, because it moves up. But she can't feel the hem so it's not short.

She grits her teeth and slowly traces her hands, which now feel clunky and she realises are shaking, along her legs from her knees down.

She presses into her leg muscles gently, rotating and rubbing including her shins, one at a time. Her right leg is first. It's gone numb again, but when she presses just so - even gently - it zings with pain. She cries out - it's like her voice is dry, even in the space where everything is loud - she hopes it was quiet. She rubs up and down her legs, after the initial checks, repeating one after the other, for a long time. Sansa wants to make sure her shins and muscles and knees are all warmed up somewhat.

Eventually she gets to her feet, crossing her hemline - it was long! And feels a swoop in her gut, a prickle down her spine and ribs. And not from the cold. There's nothing on them. Maybe she waited too long. Oh Gods - To her fingers and hands, they're cold. From the skin of her feet, she can barely feel her fingers pressing into them, but the warmth is obvious. 

She checks again gently - especially the inside curve of her foot, and her toes. Then her heels and the outer edges/planes of her feet. It stings so she doesn't press. She spends a long time warming her feet, cautiously as she can, then both legs and feet together in bigger sweeps. She checks the tall dark occasionally. 

When she feels ready, she keeps her hands clutched around her toes or on her feet and rubs them every few shuffles on her bottom.

She stops when she gets close to the possible door.

She needs to - 

Her hand bumps into and then she lays it flat, against...a door. Wooden, maybe? 

Oh, _Gods_ \- she needs to turn onto her knees again and up instead of on her hands. She's careful to position with her hand, her right leg, slowly. So if it hurts she can stop. Gently...and careful of her toes, too. She lays her hands against it. Once there, she shuts her eyes. They won't help. 

She tries to feel it. The slow glide of her palms against it, skimming first incase it was sharp - it's smoothish - causes another awful swoop in her stomach. She goes slowly to not tip over, too. In the dark it feels like she could lose her balance. When she rose on her knees, before, she went too fast and it turns out the dark can get darker - sortof. It got all tingly but by sight, and in her head. So she must be slow and careful. She tries to feel out how far - how wide the door is. When she reaches arms length, she stops. 

Her knees begin to ache. She can't tell if it's wood or stone - it's too cold. Either way, it saps her heat. 

She pauses to regain some warmth in her hands and legs and feet. It's weird in this position and frustrating but she doesn't want to sit down - she wants to go. 

Then she puts out her hands against the door, and sticks her left foot out first. She tries to lean, and slowly, rises a little. She bunches the muscles in her thighs and bends her aching knees, before setting her right foot carefully down flat. She stays crouched. Her head tingles but it's not too bad. 

She looks towards her feet and then opens her eyes. It's right in front of her face. She takes a small step back. She can see the crack at the edge of her sight. She puts her left hand against it.

Cold. A breeze! Her fingers felt that! 

Now she needs to figure out where to push - or if there's a handle; a hinge or anything on the door. She rises to a stand. Her knees pop. She can't feel a handle, if there is one. 

Which means - she needs to push.

* * *

Eventually, she manages to widen the small opening a little. When she stops, sweat wets her underarms, the cloth sticking to her skin. She looks - It's not wide enough yet. 

She goes again. And again. Takes a break. Breathes deeply. And again - this time it was easier, she thinks - like it was stuck or maybe tougher, because the door was nearly shut to begin with?

But, also harder because she's shaking a lot.

Sansa pants, relishing the cold filling her chest and the cool wood she rests her forehead against.She looks at the wedge of light. 

It's the Moon that offers the light. Of course. And this door - it's dark even with more light - it's black. Her hands sting. 

Can she fit? Sansa shuffles closer to the wedge. She tries to look through first, before pushing any part of her body in. She sees a short tower, in front of her, and shadows cast by what must be a long building to the right. It's out of her view, but it darkens the space in between the tower and the door.

Can she fit? Her head - it's tense going, she stops and covers her ears and the sides of her face,her jaw. The space is just wide enough. She retreats. Okay. Can she fit her leg and thigh - oh no, a grimace pulls at her face - it'll have to be left leg first.

Sansa takes a deep breath and pushes her lips together, as she lifts her leg through the gap slowly, leaning on the door - okay. She could fit. 

She breathes out slowly. Gathers her hair and twists it into a rope, tucking it around her neck, and under her neckline.

She slowly slides through the gap, breathing faintly. Eyes shut, hands over her ears when it's time for her face and head, mindful of her elbows when she hits one, then opened again to move her right. 

She braces under her knee, with her left hand, twists her torso, so her right hand is against the building besides the wedge- doorway, and carefully watches and guides her leg and foot out. She almost hits her foot against the door, adrenaline spikes but stops in time. She tries to bend her knee to quicken the speed, but almost over balances. 

And then - she's out. She had been holding her breath and almost collapses, relief washing through her. She sags. 

Just a few moments.

* * *

She wakes up to men's shouting and feet approaching. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hope you're all keeping well as you can and safe! 
> 
> Yes, Bran, Arya and Rickon haven't made an appearance - yet (sorry), when I wrote this I had an idea and got tired before I wrote it all out. They're coming, so this should have atleast one more part. Or they'll be in the next one.
> 
> Standard for me -- if you think any warning/triggers (tags etc) should be added, let me know. 
> 
> Please feel free to comment with thoughts, feels, questions! 
> 
> Question/s for you: 
> 
> What world if you could choose would you like to wake up in? What timezone? Where? 
> 
> Also, what was the best last thing you watched and enjoyed? For me, it was Lilo and Stitch. Love that movie.
> 
> Do you know where Sansa is? I left slight tiny hints(unsure how clear it is or subtle or too subtle or wrong it is ; it's been years since I've read and I haven't watched the show beyond a few episodes and bits as spoilers).


End file.
